


Star Trek In Fairyland

by Aerlalaith



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerlalaith/pseuds/Aerlalaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to a freak transporter incident that may or may not have involved Scotty’s tinkering, Kirk and Spock are TRANSPLANTED TO MIDDLE EARTH.  No, really.  Complete and utter crack.  (Originally posted in August, 2010)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star Trek In Fairyland

**Title:** Star Trek in Fairy Land.

**Fandoms:** Star Trek XI and Lord of the Rings

**Characters:** Kirk, Spock, Various Elven Lords of High Repute.

**Rating:** PG for mild swearing

**Summary:** Due to a Freak Transporter Incident that May or May Not Have Involved Scotty’s Tinkering, Kirk and Spock are TRANSPLANTED TO MIDDLE EARTH.  No, really.

**Warnings:** Um . . . complete and utter crack.

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Star Trek or The Lord of The Rings.  This is all for fun, no profit involved except for the warm fuzzies I get from posting fic once in a blue moon.

**Note:**   I always kind of wondered what would have happened if Spock’s eyebrows met Lord Elrond’s . . . this was the inevitable result.

 ****************

“I’m just saying,” Kirk said, “I’m just saying that— oh god, there’s more of them.  You know, I think I liked it better when they were doing the singing thing and less of the, you know,” he jerked his chin towards the _alien?  Probably.  Whatever._ Holding what appeared to Kirk’s eyes to be a perfect replica of a historical English longbow - except this one wasn’t dusty and behind a nice glass case like in a museum.  Instead, it looked rather well kept and operative. 

The pointy end was aimed directly at Kirk’s chest.

“Captain,” Spock said.  “Under the circumstances, I believe that further provocation would be most unwise.”

“Under the circumstances, Spock, I believe that further provocation is the only way we’re going to get the hell anywhere – would you _stop_?” this last demand was aimed at the, well, pointy-eared _whateverthehell_ who had gripped his shoulder and was beginning a sort of forward march.  “You could just talk to us here, you know.  Or _ask_ before _pushing_.”

There were six of them in total.  Their ears looked Vulcan (except they actually looked angry, which was an _emotion_ , so no)or Romulan (except, you know, they hadn’t stunned him on sight before brutally sewing his flesh into a decorative rug – or whatever it was that Romulans did in their spare time – so also no).  They were tall, and held their weapons like they had more than a vague idea of what to do with them and, from what Kirk could tell through the shadows and the twilight, by Earth standards they were all really, really, attractive.  Like, glowing.

But that made sense, _duh_ , because they were aliens.  Or something.  Most likely.

“You will come with us,” said one of the aliens.  The leader presumably, for his bow remained loose in his hand with no arrow notched.

“Captain,” Spock said.  “There is a probability that we will be led to an area where we will be unable to maintain contact with the Enterprise, should our communicator chance to become operative again.”

Kirk’s jaw twitched as he was pushed again, non too gently, “how high a probability?”

“Considering the fact that our earlier scans detected little Federation era technology on this planet, I would say surprising low, unless—”

“Unless their technology is too advanced for us to even detect,” Kirk finished for him.

“Yes.”

“Huh.  Well can’t you just—” he tried to use his elbow to sort of point to the area where his neck and shoulder joined.

“I am afraid your human subtleties regarding gesture escape me at this point,” Spock said, which Kirk roughly translated into something like, _you look like a spastic monkey, what the hell’s wrong with you?_ “You will have to be more concise.” 

“You know,” Kirk grimaced as he was pushed again.  Their captors eyed him mistrustfully and he kept his hands carefully at his sides.  “The neck thing.” He noticed that Spock didn’t seem to be getting as maltreated as he was.  Possibly because Spock was actually walking – did he _want_ to become a prisoner? – instead of dragging his feet. 

Spock tilted his head and looked at him.  Kirk hated it when he did that.

“Under the circumstances, Captain,” he said.  “A Vulcan neck pinch would not be feasible.  We would likely both be shot before either of us could make any sort of escape attempt.  In addition, we have only one, apparently inoperable, communicator, and no feasible way to return to the ship even if we were to escape.”

“Spock,” Kirk growled, in order to cover up the fact that his first officer had just made him feel like an idiot.  “I was kind of trying to avoid discussing the whole escape thing RIGHT IN FRONT OF OUR CAPTORS, you know?”

Spock did that looking thing again.  With his face.  And his eyes.  Kirk hated it when he did that.

“I thought it would have been clear immediately,” Spock said.

Kirk resisted the urge to tell the aliens pointing their arrows at him to just shoot Spock instead and save him the trouble.

“What.  Exactly.  Would be clear immediately?” he said instead.

Spock looked surprised.  Well, as surprised as Spock could look, which mainly consisted of his left eyebrow rising about two millimeters.

“Through the virtue of our translators, clearly we can understand their speech.  Their language must be at least somewhat related to one of the major language groups present throughout the Federation.  However, it does not appear that they are able to understand us.”

Kirk stopped and stared at him.  Oh.  Yes.  That would make sense.  The aliens pushed at him again.  Kirk tripped over a tree root.  They had materialized in the middle of forest, at night, in the middle of some sort of singing . . . thing.  Whatever.  And they had been taken captive.  Because the aliens hadn’t understood Kirk’s perfectly coherent explanation that the transporter beam had been behaving all sorts of funky lately, and Scotty had done something stupid _again_ , probably, and it was all a complete accident. 

 Spock was looking at him again. Like he had just figured out that Kirk had just figured out that Spock had figured out what was going on at least six arrows being notched ago.  God, Kirk _hated_ that.  It was like being looked at by a . . . a something very unpleasant.

“You will come with us,” repeated the lead alien, eyes hardening, “until we have ascertained that you mean us no harm.”  And then he turned, blond hair sweeping out behind him, and walked forward on absolutely silent feet.

And that was that.

**************************

The room was very nice.  It had a distinctly earthly feel to it, but also a very strong alien feel to it.  Kirk didn’t get it.  The place they were in – he couldn’t decide whether it was just one gigantic house, or a village or what, was absolutely beautiful.  Trees, waterfalls, flowers, the works.  He felt like he was in fairyland or something.  But a fairyland – or something – that was on earth.  Except not.  Which was weird.  But yeah, fairyland.  Or something.

Except for their very noticeable guards.  Who, while all very pretty, all seemed to have some sort of major competence for handling things of the sharp, pointy, and lethal variety. 

Irritably, he pushed the buttons on his communicator, trying to remain nonchalant about the entire thing, and also kind of sort of trying to hide behind the potted plant.  “Kirk to Enterprise.  Kirk to Enterprise,” he whispered.  The guard in the doorway gave him a bit of an odd look, and then a sympathetic one, as though they had just realized that they were dealing with someone who clearly didn’t have control of all his mental faculties.  “Scotty, if you don’t pick up, I’m going to beam your intestines somewhere real unpleasant so help me god—”

“Captain?  Captain is that you?”

“Uhura!” Kirk said, throwing a quick glance towards Spock.  “Uhura, where are you guys?  What’s going on?  Where did Scotty put us?”

“Captain?” her voice was mixed in with lots of static.  Kirk really wanted to throw the damn communicator across the room.  What was wrong with the thing? 

“Captain?” Scotty’s voice this time, barely distinguishable.  “Captain, we think . . .” _static_ , “and . . .-der Spock beamed into some kind of sinkhole.  We can’t” _static_ “ . . . a lock on you.  I’m . . . working” _static_ “ . . . equations but . . . hours, or even days.  I’ve never worked with a situation like this before – never even heard of it!”

Spock, who Kirk hadn’t even noticed had moved next to him, took the communicator. 

“Mr. Scott, please elucidate your theory in regards to this, ‘sinkhole’ phenomena.”

Kirk listened intently, but all he could distinguish from the rustling static were the words “Parallel,” “overlap,” “two hours,” and “time stream.”

“Whatever,” Kirk interrupted, “can he beam us back or not?”

“Captain, your query is illogical.  If it were currently possible for Mr. Scott to return us to the Enterprise, he would have already done so.”

“I know that Spock, I’m not an idiot,” Kirk said.  “I meant in the near future.  You know, like, before they come back and point arrows at us again.”

“Then you should state your question more specifically,” Spock said stiffly.  “I am aware you are not an idiot.  Your IQ—”

“Never mind, Spock,” Kirk said.  “Is Scotty still there?”

“ . . . Ye-“ _static_ “ . . . –tain?”

“Scotty,” Kirk said.  “See if you can beam us down a universal translator.  It’s not a life form, so it should be easier, right?”

“ . . . anslator?”

“Yeah,” Kirk said.  “We’ve got kind of a language barrier.  Apparently,” he stressed the word, glancing at Spock, “We can understand them because of our translators, but they can’t understand us.  So,” he said, still looking at Spock, “the _logical_ thing to do would be to get another translator, wouldn’t it?  A handheld one.”

“Indeed,” Spock said gravely.  Kirk couldn’t tell if he was being made fun of or if Spock was being serious.  This kind of irritated him.

“Well, it IS logical, isn’t it Spock?”

“I believe you have already stated that point, Captain,” Spock said.

“. . . k,” came Scotty’s garbled voice.  “I’ll . . .” _static_ , “No guarantee though.”

They both stared at the ground in front of them for a few moments, as if they could make the translator appear there through sheer force of will.

“Guess not,” Kirk said after about a minute.

“It would appear so,” Spock agreed.

“Sorry, Captain,” cackled Scotty’s voice, “I’ll . . .” _static_ , “. . . keep trying . . . beam it down . . . your life signs,” _static_ , “If we can find them.”

“All right,” Kirk sighed.  “And if that doesn’t work then try Uhura next.  Maybe she can get some sense out of these guys.”

“Captain,” Spock said, “If Mr. Scott cannot beam down a simple piece of technology, then beaming down Lieutenant Uhura is clearly also an impossibility.”

Kirk ignored him.  “And Scotty,” he said, “Don’t even think about continuing that experiment until we get back, or your intestines are _mine_.  Kirk out.”

He slammed the communicator shut, and turned towards Spock.  “Now,” he said.  “How about we figure out how to at least get out of this damn room.”

 *********************************

Lord Elrond’s day had taken a turn for the bizarre.  He rubbed his eyes and turned towards Glorfindel again, pacing back and forth in his study.

“So these two just . . . appeared.  Out of nowhere.  In the middle of your camp.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel replied.

“One appears to be a man clothed in strange garb, while the other is . . . not.  Also in strange garb.  But he is too tall to be a dwarf.  Not an orc-”

“I know what an orc looks like.  He is definitely no orc.”

“Nor a halfling, clearly,” Elrond murmured, wondering if Glorfindel might have been into the wine cellar after all.  “Goblin?”

“Don’t be ludicrous, Elrond.  Do you think I would have brought a goblin back with my patrol?”

Elrond shrugged.  “What your report seems to suggest then, Glorfindel, is that he most clearly resembles an elf.”

“Yes.”

“But you say he isn’t one.”

“Yes.”

“He is an elf?”

“No, he is not an elf,” Glorfindel clarified impatiently.

Elrond sighed, and dropped down into his chair.  “What did Erestor have to say on the matter?”

“Erestor told me to get out of his study.”

Lord Elrond pursed his lips, “I feel like I should be telling you the same thing.  Appeared as if out of thin air?  If the forces of darkness have figured out how to do that, then there is little hope for Imladris.”

“I know what I saw, Elrond,” Glorfindel said.  “Any one of my guardsmen can confirm it.  His features are elven, but his presence is not.  Their language is neither Sindarin, Quenya, Westron nor Numenorian.  I cannot make heads or tails of it.  Their garb is like no clothing I have ever seen – or heard of – and my patrol swears up and down that we had no awareness of their presence until they were practically on top of us.  I suggest that you send a message to Mithrandir, or another of his order.”

“I have already communicated with the Lady Galadriel,” Elrond said.  “She says—”

There was a sudden, furious pounding on the door.  “Lord Elrond!  Lord Elrond!”

“Enter!” Elrond barked, standing.

Erestor entered, breathing heavily, accompanied by two of other elves - both from Glorfindel’s patrol.

“Lord Elrond,” Erestor said, and Elrond just _knew_ that he didn’t want Erestor to finish that sentence.  “The prisoners have escaped.”

Of course they had.

Elrond closed his eyes.  Opened them.  “Then we must find them,” he said crisply.  “Where are my sons?  Tell them to gather warriors and search the House high and low.  Gather anyone who is unable to defend themselves in the Great Hall – that includes Lindir, Glorfindel.  Don’t let him feed you that foolish line about braining anyone with his harp, he’d brain himself before he’d let any harm come to that thing.”  He whirled back to Erestor.  “Has anyone been injured?

One of the guardsmen – Calanon, Elrond recalled – stepped forward.  “Aegnor was guarding them.  He appears to be asleep, but otherwise unharmed.”

“A head injury?” asked Elrond.

“No,” said Calanon, slightly puzzled.  “Just . . . unconscious.  But he cannot have fallen asleep at his post, because Ciryon, guarding the hallway just beyond him, was the same.”

“Very well,” Elrond said, eyes narrowed.  “Regardless of what transpired, we must find them.  And hastily.”

****************************

“The architecture here is quite impressive for what appears to be a technologically primitive society,” Spock said.  “It is quite fascinating.”

“Beautiful, you mean?” Kirk said slyly.

Spock turned to look at him.  “Contrary to your implications, Captain,” he said, a bit coldly.  “Vulcans are quite capable of understanding and appreciating beauty.  Yes, this house and its surroundings are very aesthetically pleasing – as are its inhabitants.”

Kirk was pretty sure he detected a silent _fuck you, Captain_ , somewhere in that sentence, and he congratulated himself on a job well done.

And of course, it was as Kirk was smirking at his first officer, not paying the least attention to where he was going, that he managed to walk out of a door into a courtyard, and end up face to face with five of the aliens.  Including the blond one who had captured them in the first place. 

Two of them immediately had their bows trained on him.  Their original captor and a dark haired one drew their swords.

Kirk couldn’t believe that he was either going to get shot with an arrow or killed with a fucking _sword_.  It was so ridiculous it was kind of embarrassing. 

Spock calmly stepped down beside him.  “Well, Captain,” he said.  “It appears that we have been recaptured.”

Kirk’s eye twitched.  “Thank you, Mr. Spock, for stating the obvious.”

The alien who had not drawn his weapon tilted his head and stepped forward a little as he took in Spock’s appearance.  His dark hair was swept back with a silver circlet, and he wore what looked like to Kirk to be a sort of overly cumbersome bathrobe or dress or something.  And he literally _breathed_ authority.

“So, Glorfindel spoke the truth,” said Elrond.  “You are not of the race of elves.  Neither do you appear to speak any tongue recognized on Middle Earth.”  He raised an intimidating eyebrow.

“It is intriguing that they refer to themselves using a word that humans use to speak of a species of myth,” Spock said.  He raised an eyebrow too.

The aliens’ grip on their bows tightened.

“Spock,” Kirk said through clenched teeth, “you’re supposed to be the one lecturing me about provoking people who’re trying to kill us, not the other way around.”

“I am not provoking, Captain.  I merely find it find it fascinating that their linguistic . . . patterns . . .” he trailed off, looking upward.  “What unfortunate timing.”

“The hell?  Spock, what—”

And then Scotty’s delayed universal translator plummeted out of the sky and hit Lord Elrond on the head, as all hell broke loose.

“Lord Elrond!” Erestor shouted, catching him as he sagged to the ground.  The warriors let loose their arrows, and Spock shoved Kirk out of the way just in time, catching a graze on his left arm.  Kirk stumbled, then struck out at one of the archers, who dropped the bow, blocking Kirk’s attack with ease.

Spock kicked out at the other archer, knocking the bow from his hands.  His opponent slid out of the way, then threw a punch.  Spock shifted backwards, letting the alien overbalance a little, then grabbed his arm and pulled him.  But instead of the expected throw, Spock’s fingers grasped for the meeting between neck and shoulder.  However, the alien followed his movements and rolled, wrenching out of Spock’s grasp and crushing the communicator that had fallen out of Kirk’s pocket. 

Glorfindel growled.  “How dare you attack Lord Elrond,” he said menacingly, stalking towards them.  He raised his sword.

And stepped on the slightly dented universal translator just as Kirk said (in a rather whiny voice, as Spock would later recall in front of the _entire Bridge_ , the asshole), “Look, it’s not our fault that Scotty beamed the damn thing in the middle of the atmosphere, you crazy pointy-eared bastard!”

Glorfindel froze.  “Valar!” he swore.  He stared at Kirk and then lifted his foot and stared at the piece of machinery under it.  Slowly, he reached down to grasp the translator.

“Are you mad, Glorfindel?” Erestor said in a strangled voice, still supporting Elrond’s slumped form.  “What—“

“Speak again,” Glorfindel commanded, still staring hard at Kirk.”

For a moment, there was utter silence, except for the strangling noises Erestor was still making behind Glorfindel’s back.

“Um,” Kirk said, licking suddenly dry lips.

Spock lowered his arms and relaxed his stance.  He stepped forward.  Glorfindel’s eyes flickered to him.  “You will find that you now have the capability to understand any of our linguistic dialects,” he said.  “Although simply Federation Standard would suffice.”

“Erestor,” Glorfindel said, still not taking his eyes of the two Federation officers.  “Come here.  I need you to tell me I’m not crazy.”

“Look Glorfindel, I’m kind of busy,” Erestor said, jaw clenched and indicating Elrond, who was still out cold.  “And you want me to tell you you’re _not_ crazy?”

“Just come here,” Glorfindel said.  “Just put Elrond on the ground – he’ll be fine – and come over here and touch this.”

Erestor glared at him as he gently handed Elrond off to Calanon and stood, brushing off his robes.  “Fine,” he said.  He walked over to Glorfindel, who held out the translator, and laid a long finger over it.

“Great,” Kirk said.   “Spock, does that thing even work for two?”

Erestor almost jumped.

“The translator is touch sensitive,” Spock said, “While our own are implants, this one is designed to impart the linguistic message through a series of nerve burst through the hand that travel directly to the brain via the nervous system; a much more sophisticated version of what essentially used to be known on Earth as Morse Code.  Theoretically, it is not even necessary for the language to rely on sound waves in order for it to be understood, as long as the translator contains the correct data necessary to replicate the syntax and grammatical structure for the recipients’ brain—”

“Yes or no, Spock.”

“Yes Captain.  They should both be able to understand us.  Just as we can understand them.”

“Who—” Glorfindel began, then jumped back, grabbing Erestor by the wrist to yank him back as well, as two shapes began to materialize directly in front of them.

“Quick, Jim,” McCoy said, as soon as he was able to speak.  “Scotty says we’ve only got about two minutes before this . . . universe . . . is out of synch with our own again.  He said something about alternate realities too, but I’m not a damned physicist and I swear half the time he isn’t even speaking English, and WHAT is with Santa’s helpers and the toothfairy?”  He eyeballed both elves suspiciously and prudently stepped out of reach of Glorfindel’s sword arm.

Kirk’s jaw worked, “The Prime Directive, Bones!” he managed to hiss, “You’re supposed to do the beaming thing _elsewhere_ as in _not right here_!”  He slumped, “God, Starfleet’s going to kill me.  And why the hell did you beam down here instead of just beaming us up?”

“I am not a fairy,” Erestor said dangerously.  “I am an elf.”

“Oh, that’s much better,” McCoy said.  Kirk flailed a bit at his nonchalance.  “And if you had _noticed_ , Captain, your communicator’s crushed – we just had to send someone down to your last coordinates because half our sensors are offline!”

“Interesting,” said Uhura.  “Their language appears to have a syntax almost identical to Finnish.”

“Captain,” said Spock.  “It would seem practical to evacuate immediately, before it becomes impossible for Mr. Scott to retrieve us.”

“Now _that_ , Spock, is logical,” Kirk said, still glaring at Bones.  He looked over to Glorfindel and Erestor, “Look,” he said, “sorry about the confusion and all.  And we’d uh, like to stay longer, but the universe is kind of moving along and we don’t want to miss getting back into the right one.  Star travel to do and all.  Sorry about possibly tainting your future society with our very presence and all that.” He snagged McCoy’s communicator and spoke into it.   “Beam us up, Mr. Scott,” he said.

Spock turned back to them and held up his hand.  “Live long and prosper,” he said solemnly.

And they all shimmered and vanished.

The elves stared at the space the strangers had been occupying, and then at each other. 

Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak, but a groan from Elrond silenced him.  He turned and hurried back towards his friend.

“What . . . happened?” Elrond managed. 

Glorfindel crouched down next to him, Erestor on the other side.  “You were hit on the head,” he said.  “By some sort of device.  It just appeared in the sky.  Here.” He handed the translator over to Elrond, who took it.

“And the strangers?” he asked, as he felt the tender top of his head for a bump.  He grimaced as he discovered a rather large one.

“Vanished,” Erestor said, lips pursed.  “They said,” he hesitated, glancing at Glorfindel.  “They said they traveled the stars.”

Elrond blinked and sat up as quickly as he could, wincing as his head pounded.  “The stars?” he said breathlessly.

“Aye,” Glorfindel said.

Elrond stared at him for a long moment, eyes full of some sort of wild hope.  “Did they—?”

Glorfindel felt as though a fist were slowly squeezing the inside of his chest.  He shook his head, “No, my friend,” he said, laying a gentle hand on Elrond’s shoulder.  “They did not speak of Eärendil.”

 ******************************

Back on the Enterprise, Spock suddenly turned to Kirk. 

“Captain,” he said, “did you remember to retrieve the universal translator?”

Kirk stared at him.  “No,” he said.  “I thought you did.  Uhura?”

“No,” she said.

“Well,” said McCoy, stomping his way off the platform.  “There goes the Prime Directive.”

  _End_  
  


 

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 


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